


The Evening Passes, A Rose Petal Falls

by My_Soul_and_Perfume



Category: Captain America (Movies), Deadpool - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Avengers High, Fluff, I hope, Insecure Tony, LGBTQ Themes, Like, M/M, Poetry, Thanos High, also, annoying!Steve, creative writing, douchebag!Bucky, mature themes, seriously, you should totally comment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/pseuds/My_Soul_and_Perfume
Summary: The sun rose again, another evening fell. Clouds couldn’t mask the sun—he was blinded Rose petals curled in baked masses, then fell and refused to bloom again Everything was dying. Tony was benign to any emotion whatsoever as the three-day mark came closer. To describe his depression most accurately, one had to picture a snake hanging on their person, like a burden intent on making your life Hell, simply to spite what your morals challenged. He felt annoyed that Steve hadn’t taken their last discussion seriously and continued to pursue Bucky with valentine intentions despite the pending answer the blonde owed. Steve didn’t understand that Tony needed something to stem from, someone to blame. What, was he supposed to guess? Did their scholarships mean nothing? Did Tony have to travel alone, halfway across the country because Steve would drop everything to attend to Bucky’s needs? Was he truly so deserving, so destined to have everybody take the word ‘love’ and shove it up his ass at some point? Was the real question.And Tony had no answer.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoralQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralQueen/gifts).



> Warning: This fanfic transitions from poetry to text.

**The Evening Passes, A Rose Petal Falls**

Part 1

 

The next evening passes

A rose petal falls

One man called—

First name starting with ‘B’

Pushed another over

The edge

 

This,

 _Infidelity_ ,

Was posted in the paper of

Journalists:

Eyes from all Avenger’s High

Saw

The trees looking glum,

Sun infected with red-rash fever

And a strange, brown haired knight

Leaning against his bike

A collection of roses

A gift for

 

Captain Rogers

* * *

 

Tony felt personally victimized by the Calibri cursive that Ms. Romanov wrote on the whiteboard. His arms felt numb from sitting directly toward the unit’s AC, goosebumps breaking out from shoulder to wrist, and her overbearing—whatever expensive perfume she bought—was nauseating.

Only two minutes into the lecture, he exhaled and rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes; first period was always the hardest to wake up to.

“Most of us regard good luck as our right,” the widow recited, standing stiff, ginger hair coiffed neatly upon her shoulders, “and bad luck as a betrayal of that right.” She sipped at her water bottle and turned her attention toward the double-pane windows, letting in drowsy morning sunlight.

The class was silent but the teenage enthusiast heard everybody’s thoughts like static. Even the inferior ones, who, albeit a bit dusty on their argumentative skills, analyzed the quote enthusiastically. It could have been the heat on that humid, Summer day, but maybe Tony felt more empathetic than normal for just a little while. Of course, another reason for the classroom’s audible thought process may perhaps be because students were murmuring quite audaciously upon the wooden desks, passing notes along or texting the latest school news.

“I won’t say that you haven’t experience betrayal; everyone has. In any form, at any time, manipulated by any person, even the youngest child in the world could be exposed to…troubling circumstances.”’

Of course, Ms. Romanov would bring that up. Of course, that same week Peggy decided to publish her newest article. Tony was dying to know if the teachers thought that student gossip was the most interesting thing in the world as opposed to Nick Fury’s recent file for divorce.

“With this in mind, you all have a new assignment that will be due before the grading period ends. Tony, hand these out please.” He received a packet bundle, feeling warm in his hands; probably fresh out the printer.

Ms. Romanov waited until the brunette began handing the packets out—starting with Bruce’s desk—before explaining the project. “All it is, is a little research and literature. Seeing as this class has yet to turn in any creative writing, Mrs. Odinson and I thought it was about time to see how your grammar skills have improved.” _Well she can go fuck herself._  Tony thought, irritably. Loki gave him a guilty look as he passed his desk.

“Some things she and I will be looking for is how well you introduce conflict to the piece, as well as a creative mindset; do something past your capabilities—something philosophical, spiritual, realistic, horrifying. It can even be poetry.” Some of Tony’s friends nodded in approval; they chose metaphors, not an obvious plot. “Basically, I’d rather not ready another romantic tragedy.” _Wow. She…_ actually _sounded convincing. But I think we all know that Natasha is just looking for another Emily Bronte._

“How many points is it worth?” Tony asked, returning the spare rubrics to his English teacher and seating his jean-clad, grey button-down topped body back in his seat. _It can’t be that many_ , he told himself.

“One-hundred. Including grammar, creativity, flow, structure, and personal interest.” Natasha knew the last category was unethical, but if one thought about it, Shakespeare would have never debuted without the majority going gaga over his plays. “So I suggest you get going now if you want to complete the rough draft and add final edits before next Friday.”

Nodding his head, Tony raised his hand to be excused. He took the lanyard hall pass before stepping out the door, covering his eyes as the sun unveiled behind a curtain of clouds.

* * *

 

One truth was evident to Steve and his boyfriend that night.

“We’re going on that scholarship together.”

Tony nodded. He poured a glass of “imitation champagne”—which was really apple cider—in a small wine glass for himself, then Steve.

Two or three moments passed in silence until the young player laughed suddenly, the contents of his glass swishing dangerously toward the edge. He said, “Our parents are gonna flip!” He wheezed between breathes of hilarity, covered his eyes with his left hand, leaned over the counter, and cackled even harder than he began.

Honestly, it was hard not to laugh either, and Steve allowed himself to loosen up for the first time that week. His stress headache died down to a low buzzing in his ears just as the blonde guided Tony to his side, smiling until his face hurt, and kissed him everywhere on that gorgeous visage. Coach Wilson had confronted them earlier in the day, his scarred face expressing nothing but pride.

_“Congratulations.” he announced to the two players out on the field. Wade pulled out two alabaster envelopes from his wind breaker and presented them to the boys._

“Oh my God, Tony. We’re going to Georgia. On a football scholarship. Holy _shit_!”

“A _full-ride_ , football scholarship. That means all we have pay for is gas, groceries, and pretty much private luxuries—which leaves a lot of money set aside for us just in case.”

“I hope you realize how blessed we are, Tony.” Steve reminded, finally taking a sip of his “champagne”. If they were old enough, no doubt they would both be drinking the real thing.

“Sur, I do.” Was Tony’s uncaring reply. “Come on.”

Bypassing any warning, Tony took his boyfriend’s free hand and led him upstairs to celebrate.

* * *

 

It happened next Monday, four days before the game against Thanos High, just five days before they would tell their parents what they had been hiding—after the big game.

Mr. Odinson shockingly dismissed their class without any homework for the evening, so Tony joyously made way to the locker room. If he knew what he would see during passing period…well, he just might have brought a water gun to cleanse the crime scene.

* * *

 

A collection of roses

A gift for

 

Captain Rogers

 

He searched for a word

To describe the picture

The forest screamed just

Ahead, behind,

The man’s name starting

With ‘B’

Emerged

 

Rogers shook like a

Puppy,

Licked murky tears from

The other’s face

Said, “I missed you.”

 

The next evening passes,

A rose petal falls

* * *

 

Tony kept it sweet and simple—

“Who was at the gate today?”

“Thanks, Tony. My day was great. How was yours?”

 _“_ You kissed his face.”

Steve sucked his teeth, roared the silver Prius to life. It felt like all the giddy excitement and shared intimacy from Saturday night was irrelevant, now. _As he smoothed back his chestnut hair, nervously avoided eye contact, tried not to give in to the pressing ache just there, deep inside. As the bed creaked and groaned, as Tony’s breathless sighs scorched Steve’s skin. As the genius broke down crying because his parents divorced, as Steve peppered his heart with heavy kisses. As Tony returned the favor with erotic poetry and a sensual massage._ Looking back, it was easy to admit that nothing was more exciting than to come home with Tony, to grow up with Tony, to cook with Tony, to _be_ with Tony.

But then Bucky happened.

He _came back_.

_Early!_

And Steve had acted rather recklessly, which was why they were in this situation then, still in the school parking lot and talking about a piece of his past he would rather not get into.

Could he remember what it was like to be with Bucky, though? Even if what they had was only a close friendship, just two emerald bracelets holding their bond together, and a shared milkshake every other Sunday, it was certainly a solid one. The two were inseparable back then….

Steve sighs.

“Before I met you, there was another person—“

“Who also had a dick.”

“I didn’t date him, Tony.”

“No, no. You didn’t hear what I said, Steven. He. Had. A. Dick.”

“If you would let me explain—“

“I thought you said I was the first guy you took interest in! Or, as you put it, ‘The only guy who made me bi-curious.’”

“Bucky was my best friend in middle school. He was expelled and went to juvie after eighth grade promotion—which left me pretty pissed off—and never came back until now. Okay? I was just,” Steve lowers his voice to an exhausted whisper, “, just excited to see him after five years of no contact.”

Tony was still marveling at the fact that Mr. Honesty (AKA Steve Rogers) lied to him. And that his ex-boyfriend went to juvie.

_Really?_

“So who do you want to be with after seeing him—Bucky—again? Trust me when I say this Steve, a polyamorous relationship is _not_ what I’m looking for!” Despite his bold words, Tony was a hair’s width away from plunging into a deep abys. The emotional courage he normally felt collapsed under the weighted palm Steve placed on his thigh, insecurity taking its place.

            “Honestly,” the blonde choked, “, I don’t know….”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get as much work done as I'd hope, but as soon as we're back in San Diego, I'll continue plotting.
> 
> Thank you for the comments, kudos, and patience!
> 
> Enjoy!

“So who do you want to be with after seeing him—Bucky—again? Trust me when I say this Steve, a polyamorous relationship is _not_ what I’m looking for!” Despite his bold words, Tony was a hair’s width away from plunging into a deep abys. The emotional courage he normally felt collapsed under the weighted palm Steve placed on his thigh, insecurity taking its place.

            “Honestly,” the blonde choked, “, I don’t know….”

* * *

 

It was cold enough to know that somehow, even in vain, Tony would remain with Steve until he made his decision; with the wind blowing relentlessly, making the deciduous trees cry out in shivery chimes, our conflicted blonde was an anchor for the genius to tie himself to until things blew over. Paired with the assurance of sincerity for whatever Steve decided for himself, the anticipatory breath was nothing short of a dry exhale—promise less, a teaser. And for the lonesome days since Tony caught his boyfriend laying the love on thick—without any visible remorse—on another man, what familiarity stayed stuck, except for that same beautiful smile?

Loki confronted him in the hallway on Thursday. He was wearing Robert Cavalli jeans and a green cardigan, which paired beautifully with his emerald eyes. Underneath was grey a V-neck tucked into his jeans, fastened tightly with the required leather belt that every male was required to wear at Avengers high. He sauntered close to Tony, leant on the lockers as carefree as a cat.

“Steve’s an idiot.” The pale beauty said. He gave Tony a once over, from the blemished white sneakers he wore that day, to his grass-stained jersey. Tony supposed he was the tramp here, compared to the lady.

“Oh,” he breathed, “, I know. And you know?”

“I heard the news from Thor, Thor heard it from his stupid friends,” Loki rolled his eyes when mentioning the Warriors Three, “and his friends were forced to listen to the gossip coming out of Peggy’s mouth during journalism.” Tony cursed. “So, you can imagine the risks of letting this escalate, right? From here on, it is hearsay. Peggy _will_ publish that article—pictures too.”

“Pictures?!” Tony inhaled sharply, scanning the eggshell tiles to direct his fury at. Peggy was the school’s head journalist—the editor of the paper—and her enemies were always looking for a reason to block anything she tried to post.

“Three of them.”

“I got to stop her. I _have_ to stop her.” Tony dragged his focus from the floor to look at Loki, who gracelessly avoided eye contact. “When will she publish the paper?”

“Game day.”

 “Okay. Okay, I can work with that. It’s just three days from now.” But who would he talk to within those three days that would be able to convince Peggy not to publish her “article”? Who—in this prejudiced school—would give Tony the time of day with the big game coming up and homecoming right around the corner? With the amount of patience he harbored, he doubted anything could get done with one thousand other things on his mind either.

Steve and Bucky included.

 


	3. Part 3

 

       On Wednesday, Ms. Stark packed her things and left for San Francisco at twelve in the morning. She paused down the hallway to look through Tony’s door, and observed him with his head shoved beneath a pillow, the air conditioner on low and pressuring the sheets; sleep never came easy to her boy, but it was obvious that he was shut in the dream world, muttering to himself quietly like a newborn baby. The angel he was to other people, Tony never took the time to nurture himself, just like her, and most definitely like his father. He was always giving to someone in some way, whether it was to tutor the neighbor’s kids next door or joining community service for their weekly mass to raise money for more public trash cans around the area. Tony was seldom selfish.

        Of course Natalie took care to give him his space during these activities, sitting back with ashes in her throat, the weight coming off emotionally and physically all the same. The cannabis was just an excuse to fill herself silly and stay high through the emotions, she would tell Stark. Growing up around the bad crops of the season planted those habits in her head—yes, all the more reason to make sure their son wouldn’t grow up the same way she did, with the same habits and bad choices. So Natalie sent herself to court for rehabilitation, for closure. It wasn’t until San Francisco promised a rehabilitation opportunity that she couldn’t get there, locally, that the judge swept his gavel down and put their home on lockdown.

       Child’s protective services, for Christ’s sake.

       She was trembling, couldn’t handle the heat rising within their household. Tony sat back and watched with such stubborn dignity a teenager shouldn’t have had at his age. And her husband…. Well, if the papers for absolute custody over their son was any hint, Natalie promised to herself that she would sleep alone from then on.

       Now she shakes herself out of the lethargy, giving a bittersweet smile to Tony as he shifted and twisted the sheets. With the deadline approaching so eagerly, those last images were what she chose keep archived in her memory for when the house spat back with chewed up divorce papers, signed and mailed off to the judge.

 

* * *

 

She languished in a hopeless marriage,

 feeling stupid.

She longed to lay in bed with Him,

still feeling stupid. She

looked at Him and thought,

_What the Hell did I do to feel so stupid?_

* * *

 

       At midnight, the Stark name was lost and luggage was packed. She had courage to feed herself to the strange world, dying, as Natalie Ray left no evidence for Tony to find in the morning, when his life would take a most dreadful turn. His last source of comfort vanished, totally, as the car purred and drove into oblivion.

 

The sun rose again,

 another evening fell.

Clouds couldn’t mask the sun—he was blinded

 Rose petals curled in baked masses, then fell

and refused to bloom again

Everything was dying.

 

* * *

 

        Tony was benign to any emotion whatsoever as the three-day mark came closer. To describe his depression most accurately, one had to picture a snake hanging on their person, like a burden intent on making your life Hell, simply to spite what your morals challenged. He felt annoyed that Steve hadn’t taken their last discussion seriously and continued to pursue Bucky with valentine intentions despite the pending answer the blonde owed. Steve didn’t understand that Tony _needed_ something to stem from, someone to blame. What, was he supposed to guess? Did their scholarships mean nothing? Did Tony have to travel alone, halfway across the country because Steve would drop everything to attend to _Bucky’s_ needs?

       Was he truly so deserving, so _destined_ to have everybody take the word ‘love’ and shove it up his ass at some point? Was the real question.

       And Tony had no answer.

       By Thursday afternoon Loki’s sources were completely unreliable because nobody followed up on Peggy’s scheduled work days, where she would be out and about the school to collect information for the paper. Without them, it was impossible for Loki to intercept the red head; singly pure anticipation pointed them nowhere.

       “I am sorry that this escalated so far.” Loki said. His words seemed to be genuinely sincere, for Tony felt the soft, cupped palm of the God’s hand on his shoulder, warmed with blood. _The blood thriving in his veins that kept him alive and kicking, the blood he shared with Thor and the Odins, the blood that would spill a rich maroon and later spill into the heart of someone more deserving than family._

       It was impossible to not feel envy for the gifts Tony would never have.

       He tried his best to pass off every emotion as nonexistent, but the muscles in his face were too tired to hold a smile for seconds at a time; and before long, the snake dragged them down as well. Occasion after occasion, Coach Wade threatened to bench him during the game if his trembling hands didn’t ‘catch that ball one more time’—Steve even took his leading position for a while—but worst of all were the pitying looks he received during passing period, exclusively from people of journalist majors with early access to the juicy gossip. This included Thor’s friends, who called themselves the Warriors Three.

       “It’s…quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Tony.” they mocked. The brunette swallowed thickly, letting the pressure behind his eyes quail, once, twice, as their unwanted criteria nearly pushed his tears to the surface.

       “Yeah? Well….” 

        Loki shouldered Tony harshly to get to his brother’s friends, as composed as a psychopath telling himself that he belonged anywhere; their condescending nature was less important than any article in the limelight. He hissed in their faces.

       When the fight calmed, it was quiet in his head. Loki’s threats sounded like water in a seashell. The Warriors Three, no longer condescending and shrunken into their usual posture, almost looked ashamed— _dotting on me_ , the brunette realized. _Sympathizing_.

       He let his vision exhaust its focus as one of them deleted the recording, holding his phone face-front so that Tony saw the empty video slot.

 

       

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have such bad writer's block, you guys! Where do I go with this?


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sincerely sorry for the hiatus. My grandma has been diagnosed with cancer, my mom is stressed, my studies as a dancer is crumbling because my leg isn't getting any better. I've been trying to write every day, I swear, but the anger and anxiety in my chest has kept me from focusing on the other part of my life that I love.
> 
> Thankfully, though, some things are getting better and I'm starting to get more ideas flowing. Hopefully, you will forgive me for this gigantic cliffhanger that I had left you with in the previous chapter without some sort of warning. I'm sorry!
> 
> P.S. I'll be back to edit this some more. I know that the timeline of this story wasn't very thought out and has probably confused some of you. But, anyway, carry on.
> 
> Enjoy!

       "Where were you all this time?"

       Bucky knew he was going to ask that day. He had seen the curiosity his eyes, the skipping breathes in his chest, throbbing veins stretching tanned skin. Pulsing. Itching.

       He opened his mouth, but—

_I can’t_

_We can’t_

_Steve!_

       —choked on his own saliva, sinking deep into the mattress, bones locked in place.

        "Well," Twisting his torso to look at Steve upset his stomach momentarily and set a new wave of nausea through his gut. They were acting cautious around each other. Acting like strangers forced to inhabit the same room while the people who prayed for their friendly becoming contained their awkwardness through forced smiles. Bucky went to juvie for theft, but people looked at him like he killed someone. They stared as he walked down the halls of Avengers High, puckered their lips like squeezed lemon fruit, pursued him and Steve like flies. The claustrophobia was overwhelming.

       “I,”, A gentle breeze curled around his neck length locks, tickling his nape; he tucked them behind his ears. “It’s pretty anti-climactic and boring and vague, but-”

       “Whatever you know I should hear, just tell me. Don’t beat around the bush, Bucky.”

       “Right.” The brunette tried not to feel afraid as he placed a gentle hand over Steve’s forehead, noticing that his skin was feverish and red. He stroked the fringes of neat, even bangs and carded them to meet his knuckles, where the palm of his hand massaged gently over the Steve’s scalp. Out with it, then.

       “Ever heard of Barnes Company, its owners Winnifred and George? They’re loaded, filthy rich, world renowned, and the greatest pretenders I’ve ever met. I used to steal from them.” He let Steve process this information, continuing as he felt the blonde flush with goosebumps. He scoffed, crossed his ankles, and tugged at Steve’s hair. “They were actually my parents? Nah. No. They were nothing to me and I was nothing to them, Steve, I wasn’t supposed to be born. I mean, they wanted a successor to take over when they were older, but they wanted one _later,_ not during one of the largest lawsuits against their rival company they had ever dealt with since competition had begun to rise. Not when the company was underway of crashing completely.”

 _He wasn’t supposed to be born?_ Steve didn’t understand.

            “Winnifred fucked the CEO of the company they were fighting against, some other pretentious buyer, and they completely screwed over everybody in court. Nobody won, in the end, and it was just the Barnes, red-necked and at each other’s throats every day since then on. She carried an accident inside her stomach.”

            Steve suddenly felt like a horrible human being for asking about Bucky’s past at all. He couldn’t run away from him, though. His company made sense, despite every other forewarning thrown at them since the beginning of the week. He made himself still his nervous shivering, listened to what Bucky had to say.

            “Cash, credit cards, their most expensive technology…. It was more out of envy and anger than anything when I stole and my only goal was to hurt them. Like they hurt me by abandoning me after useless years of faked normalcy…I can’t recall any warm memories of the time I spend there.” Yes, it was a solid 11 years of neglect in that house.

            _And, do you feel cold in my home, Bucky?_

       Ocean blue waves shadowed on Steve’s bedroom walls.

      Bucky swallowed around the swell of anxiety in his throat, giving in to the pull of nimble fingers, allowing his body to be vulnerably bared to the ceiling and positioned awkwardly on top of Steve's torso. If it weren’t for the hand caressing his neck, he would have floated away, far from the drama before it could solidify. “Three years of theft left an impression on them. My foster parents were sued, and, it was all so sudden. I was nearly taken away from them, nearly passed on to another family.” Anxious laughter bubbled from his throat. “Can you believe I only got detention?! I thought the judge was insane, but, somehow it seemed like she understood what my verdict was. She kept looking at me sadly, like I was some guilty mutt that deserved to be put out of its misery before the next strike hit his gaping wounds.”

_"Stray."_

_"On fire."_

_"Thinning."_

_"Unstable."_

_"Misguided."_

_"Unloved."_

       He breathed in Steve’s exhale as his own oxygen supply diminished, finding that there were more details to the story than he thought.

       Unexpected actions and spontaneous confessions.

       Bucky stopped breathing.

       “So,” his words trembled with the promise of an oncoming sob, “off to correctional detention I went.” He hit a grey area. The ending, like he said, was anticlimactic. It didn’t feel just to him, was unfulfilling and dry. Nonetheless, his tears spilled.

       Not one moment too soon—Steve suddenly reversed their positions to straddle Bucky's hips, nuzzling into the brunette’s neck and squeezing his physique tightly. “Now here I am, stirring up even more problems for people.”

       “No. Look,” Steve scrunched his nose, tasting the sour flavor of guilt on his tongue, “Tony is just a little jealous--"

       “Tony?” Bucky said absently. His eyes were glassy, his breathing staccato notes. He felt a sudden pull of fatigue that set bone deep and pinched his eyes shut. “Is that why the school is acting so weird? Because there’s another guy you were involved with before I came here?” The realization was like a stab in the heart.

_God, Steve had been fucking someone else all this time? Jesus Christ._

       Though the physical scars from juvie and his adolescent life obviously didn't lessen the pain he suffered each day from self-loathing, he had half a year to get his life plan organized and had only three people to help him do it; his counselor and parents. Steve was excluded for personal reasons. It was a lost cause, anyway, seeing as he was going to another state on scholarship in a couple months. They wouldn’t even get the summer to each other.

       This—

_Moment_

_Touch_

_Aching_

_Longing_

       —was it.

       He would come to regret being so pessimistic in the future, but all Bucky could think about at that moment—wrapped in Steve’s arms, straddled innocently by strong thighs—was how to escape.

 

* * *

 

Change in his pocket

One dollar to buy something sweet

 

Bad for him

 

Like goodness tasted really bitter

 

Phantom jaws ripped flesh from his arms

Blurry, descending, colliding, chaotic

He was ready to fall into bed and cry himself to sleep.

 

Sweat trickled down his neck, then the handcuffs bit his skin

He wanted the key

 

Like freedom was the pursuit of unhappiness

 

Bad for him

 

 

* * *

 

       The next thing he knew, there was sweat sticking to his neck and a comforter cocooned him, downy and grounding.

       "Bucky?" Steve called. He leaned his forehead on Bucky's pale palm, gazing at him shyly behind long eyelashes. For a football player, he carried a very tender and gentle nature in his heart. His brain, on the other hand, made practical decisions, everything he said or did the product of overthinking or too much stimuli at once.

       “Just so we’re clear, Bucky, you know that I wouldn’t purposefully try to hurt anybody for fun. Right?” He asked him as they laid together. Bucky wondered about the bitterness and warning in his tone. He wondered where Steve was taking this discussion, wondered how badly his story had affected his mindset about having a relationship.

        Blushing as Steve squirmed on his lap, waiting for a reply, he said, “Yeah. But not everyone can be so kind and expect not to upset friends and family their whole lifetime.”

       “Hm.” Steve hummed. He started picking at Bucky’s shirt buttons as if they were stitches on a football; wanted to see them unravel. “Tony would be the first I’ve ever hurt. I’m planning on letting him go before—”

       “No.” Bucky spat.

       Steve curled his lip. His forearms clenched and held steady, wrists bending under pressure as his fingers clenched the sheets. “What?”

_Just fucking say it._

       “I…just don’t think that that’s a graceful move on your part, Steve. Could be a mistake, dumping him.”

       Silence for several moments. Blue and brown eyes clashing, swirling, meshing, polarizing. A quivering throat swallowed audibly, and voiced,  “Look, I was confronted the other day by this chick at school. I meant to tell you sooner, but Tony and I have been busy trying to cover your ass.” Bucky said. “Peggy Carter is trying to publish a gossip article on our relationship. She’s looking for drama, fun, and a chance to bother someone. I've met people like her and I can definitely tell you that she probably has plenty tricks up her sleeve to try to get to us."

       "What the fuck. Shit," Steve swallowed. He screwed his face up sourly, as if the image of his “ex” and best friend working together to save him from bad publicity— _working_ _together_ —was something he had to wipe away from his imagination. It sounded unbelievable. Impossible.

        "What dirt does she have on us that I don’t know about?”

       “Look, it’s already deleted and I have the evidence in my bag. We don’t have to worry about—”

       “ _What_ was deleted? What _kind_ of evidence?” Steve pushed. His left eye twitched while his hands wrung themselves out in the grip of the comforter. Bucky had never seen him so nervous before. He ran a hand through his hair and sat up; his long sleeved black sweater rode up on the way, giving Steve a glimpse of his chiseled abdomen in the process. They were both muscular. And strong. They could have been strong together if Bucky hadn’t gone to juvie.

       "Peggy showed me a photo of you and I. The day we….” a blush fanned across his cheeks and ears, “were reuniting by the football field. She had a recording of us of what we said, did, but Tony got her staff to delete it and saved us the embarrassment of having direct quotes in the story.” The whole situation was so invasive to Bucky, proving how little privacy he could ever hope to find outside of controlled households and prison fences.

       Steve slid off his lap to lean against the headboard. He started rubbing his temples and only paused when Bucky stopped speaking, as if the brunette’s words were directly harming his head. “Jesus Christ.” He sighed.

       “And I-”

       “We aren’t officially dating.” Steve snapped back. “He and I have nothing that the two of us share and never will. Trust me Bucky, I know how loyal I am. But Tony, he’s a pompous bastard, who is ignorant, selfish, and condescending, never giving a fucking care whether the world screws anybody but himself over.” His words were lies. “Goddammit, I just—how can I—why can’t I express how I’m feeling about this? All I want is to go back to the way things were between us before you left.”

       “Don’t lie to yourself like that, Steve.”

       “It’s the truth.”

       “No, it’s not.” Bucky insisted. He rubbed his eyes and found them damp. Tears threatened to tip over the edge of his eyelids. “I can see through your mask, I know that you feel overwhelmed by my homecoming and school. But I hate the way you deny the lack of excitement and happiness in your gut when you’re with me.”

       Nimble tree limbs began to strike the window pane as the wind lifted. Steve saw that the sky swallowed the sun, rendering the outside dark and murky; it was Summer time and temperatures were humid. Going outside would feel like walking into an overcrowded sauna.

       “I don’t…no, I don’t. It’s not like that, we’re just—”

       “Please, Steve,” A wavering resolve in Bucky’s brain birthed an awful feeling of pain in his chest. His eyes blinked wildly. “, just tell me when you’re going to let me in.”

       “Tony deserves—”

       “To be treated right. He deserves to have a voice in this. He deserves to talk about his feelings with you. He deserves to be heard!” His voice had steadily grown into raw shouting. He subconsciously wondered if Steve’s parents had begun furrowing their eyebrows, had curved their ears to hear what was happening in their son’s room.

       “He does. You’re right. He does.” Steve placated. He had thought that breaking up with Tony would be easier than this, but Bucky didn’t seem to want to make his decision an easy one. From the first day he had arrived, neither Steve nor Bucky seemed to click in the wrong place and the thought of them being what they used to was apparently only a dream. And yet Steve kept pushing. He kept pushing for love, he kept fighting for intimacy, he kept arguing for the nostalgic personas that had obscured their vision of the future every day since middle school. When they had met in the fifth grade, Bucky had been living with his real parents, about 11 at the time and much more reserved than he was in the present. They had shared the same wooden desk, had copied each other’s homework, identified themselves as the only two pure immigrants in the entire school and fed off each other’s loneliness. And though they were young, Steve and Bucky had managed to build a strong co-dependence off each other, had nurtured a brotherly relationship between them while the adults were oblivious.

       But, of course, with only two people to keep each other company and no outliers, they didn’t have an appropriate way to get rid of all the anger that was piling up inside. Steve avoided his parents for two years while they tried to figure out a way to stay in the states. Bucky, while his parents had a more successful and wealthy status than Steve’s, had managed to get involved in one of the largest stock crashes they had ever seen. The brunette found out that his father wasn’t really his father, and his mother had refused to acknowledge Bucky as her son as soon as he was born. The “love palace” was crumbling. They drifted. And then…Steve had got a phone call from his mother during school reporting the most devastating news: that his best friend had been placed in a correctional detention. For how long, he had asked, Will he be okay? But what he wanted to ask more than anything was—

       “Steve?” Bucky cooed. The blonde was quiet, absently staring at Bucky’s shoulders, biting his lower lip raw. Bucky sensed the anxiety rippling from his chest. He felt guilty, thinking that he was being too rough on him, giving him a harsher scolding than was deserved. But, what Bucky was trying to say…. What he was trying to ask Steve is—

      _“Are you feeling the same way you felt about me when we first met?”_

_“Do you still love me like back then?”_

       Thundering hearts on a dizzying railroad. Eyelashes batting. Teeth grinding. Eyes boiling. It was finally out there, what they had been keeping inside for so long.

       It felt good.

* * *

 

        Peggy Carter. A busy mouthed red head that stalked Bucky through the hallways of Avengers High, constantly bitching about anything and everything. Her favorite topic: Bucky Barnes and his "mysterious, closeted relationship with Steve Rogers".

       He remembered clearly, the odor of her excited sweat and De la Rose fragrance as she cornered him on the way to physics class. He remembered students freezing in place like the building plummeted to Arctic temperatures and froze their bones. Chewing gum smacked dramatically in their mouths and then the occasional snicker from amused on-lookers who were closer to the two, seeing the tremble in Bucky's shoulders, the menace in Carter's eyes.

       "Peggy Carter, head of the journalism department; leading editor of The Black Widow series." She introduced. She didn't shake his hand. Bucky nodded slowly, huddling closer to his locker. "I'm seeing some curiosity in those eyes, Bucky. You don't have to be wary of me. My colleagues and I just want answers."

       "To what?"

       "Who are you?" she asked immediately, pursing her lips. "Not your name. Occupation. Status, pseudo.  I can come up with a dozen answers of my own, but, I assume that you would rather I stimulate them instead from your honest word, correct? Not the word of your peers?" Her lips were red, sharp canines peeking sexily behind a plump lower lip. The V of her white sweater had dipped lowly to the crevice of her breasts, not leaving much to the imagination. Bucky would have fucked her if they were friends.

       He had contemplated walking away and she had sensed it. "Another thing: my mind is coming up with some damning evidence on your background, Barnes, which could...damage...a certain student's relationship between him and Rogers. So. I'll ask again: Who are you?" An unspoken _tell me now or I’ll just make something up_ had followed. She wasn't looking for a name. 

       A status.

       Bucky scowled. His curiosity dwindled, and in its becoming, annoyance took place. That girl and her eggshell blazer, clean powder pink skater's skirt and white blouse coaxed out the delinquent in him. He smiled.

      "You’re just another rich princess to me, Peggy. I don’t know you, the school doesn’t know me, and whoever it is that you’re talking about that’s supposedly suffering from me and Steve hanging out can either go fuck himself or come to me directly.” He slammed his locker shut and smiled as the closest viewers startled.

       The little shits.

        “I don't remember you ever coming to me to ask for an interview, Peggy. So I'm going to ask you to contact me first the next time you want to talk instead of cornering me like an animal during the middle of passing period just because you think you have the right."

       The crowd blanched.

       The next thing Bucky knew, an uncomfortable pressure settled on his toes and his eyes were shooting to the back of his skull in alarm while a waxy piece of paper was waved in front of his face. As they focused out of the murk, Peggy said, “I’m no homosexual, but I can tell when things are getting cozy in my territory, Barnes.” Her polished talons resisted Bucky’s pull on the photo as he tried to snatch it from her. People started to murmur and shuffle closer. Peggy herself was leaning nearer to the trembling man, the means for business and straight-talk written so raw in the folds between her eyebrows, gnashing teeth pulling those cheekbones taught. Looking back, Bucky realized that if it weren’t for a certain Oakwood haired, lean muscled, dimple cheeked boy—

       “Your tampon is showing.”

       —his situation would have been a lot worse.

       And then it was all irrelevant at that point: what others thought of Bucky, what Peggy wanted from him, the truths he wouldn’t share. The laughter continued throughout the rest of passing period. Peggy Carter, "head of the journalism department" fled from the scene, trying to pull down her short skirt and dash to the bathroom in a momentary interval of embarrassment. The boy who had made the nonchalant remark continued strolling past the rows of lockers with his steaming cup of coffee in hand, skateboard rolling steadily beneath his feet. Peter was his name, he learned that day. He was in his physics class, but sat toward the back of the class away from anybody’s range of sight. Intentional or otherwise, what the boy did that day to save Bucky from embarrassment was purely selfless and brave, if not purely innocent. It didn’t matter what the photo of him and Steve was; it was the boy—“His name is Tony Stark.”—standing  shocked and fuming in the darker pitches of the photo that captured all of his attention.

        “He’s Steve Roger’s boyfriend.”

       Steve’s boyfriend: cherry cheeked, watching them kiss with an expression akin to heartbreak.

       After that distressing revelation, Bucky retreated into the depths of his mind for peace and quiet as if the solutions to his frequent dilemmas were etched into the fine concrete cracks in his skull. It was cowardice, yes, the way he chose to turn his back on the real world. Yet, also vulnerable that the way the nape of his neck was open, susceptible to damage. It was the only exercise that worked; one the orderlies in juvie taught him when he enrolled. He had had a temper back then. When his shoulder had ached every day. When festering guilt beneath the lacerations on his body or the confused words he spoke were bitter and were spoken angrily. Bucky had been trapped physically and mentally. He found that any effort he put into rehabilitation since his sentencing were wasted on the few memories he could never—would never—let go of. Closure was the only real issue.

       Closure of the premature relationship between he and Steve. Closure for his parent’s supposed forgiveness. Closure for the way he ignored his own feelings and others’, scratching his brain raw to stimulate the abominable nightmares that he deserved to live through to repent for all his time wasted cursing the world. Closure was the only thing Bucky wanted, not more confusing feelings. But people like him didn’t go out and look to make amends with lengthy discussions and heart-to-heart bonding. No, his restless personality offered respite in action and reaction to what was dealt in time. That was why he decided to wait for Steve, flowers in hand, guest pass around his neck: to touch what he had thought had belonged to his hands and eyes...only realizing how much his partner had grew without him. Steve looked muscular when he saw him for the first time that afternoon, certainly grew past the average height of a normal teenage boy with gold for hair and sapphire gems for eyes. That steel determination in his gut that Bucky had stretched went thin. He tossed its remains into the kindling fire of his heart and chose to wipe away any noticeable pretense on his face that would give him away. He couldn’t bring himself to deny Steve the happiness he deserved! Not after so long….

       That turned out to be a big mistake, consequentially.

       And so, there was a new situation to work out, another case to solve. Whose faith stayed stronger between the three men: Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, or Steve Rogers?

       Nobody could tell you anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... What did you think?


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